


When Superheroes 'Meet Cute'

by RileyC



Category: DCU, Smallville, World's Finest - Fandom
Genre: Identity!Porn, M/M, Paranormal, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Smallville's last season, Clark comes to Gotham to interview Commissioner Gordon, cover Fashion Week, and try to get Batman to join the Justice League. Helping Batman defeat a vengeance vampire wasn't part of the plan, but that's the superhero life for you...</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Superheroes 'Meet Cute'

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a zine that fell through because of Real Life. The idea was to introduce Bruce Wayne (Batman) to the world of Smallville. So the Clark Kent here is meant to be that Clark, but with the blue eyes and black hair of DC Comics Clark. The beta was tmelange.

Smoothing his hair into place, Clark Kent had just stepped in from the hotel terrace just as another man charged recklessly along the corridor and practically crashed into him.  
  
“Whoa!” Clark shot out an arm to steady the man. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you--”  
  
“Never mind that!” The stranger clutched Clark by the sleeve and dragged him back out onto the terrace. “Please, you have to save my life!”  
  
“What?” Clark checked for any sign of danger but couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, which was saying a lot for Gotham. He had been in the city for three days and there had already been five bank robberies, three hostage situations, one jewelry heist, a break-in at an art museum, two bomb scares, and a mass escape at Arkham --all of that on top of a swarm of designers, models, and celebrities who were in the city for a week of high fashion celebration.  
  
At least the spate of crimes gave him a lot of material for his interview with Commissioner James Gordon. Clark still didn’t know what Perry White had been thinking with the added assignment for him to cover the fashion extravaganza as well. Haute couture in Smallville was Carhartt’s latest line of bib overalls and Clark’s own taste still trended towards plaid.  
  
If some aspects of his day job were baffling, however, that was as nothing compared to the frustration of trying to make contact with Batman. He could go back and tell the rest of the Justice League that the reports of Batman could be confirmed; Clark had seen him, Gotham’s mysterious Dark Knight silhouetted against the night sky. A face to face meeting was yet to be achieved, however.  
  
“Just go along with what I say,” his new friend said and cast an anxious look back down the hallway.  
  
“Go along with what?” Clark asked. “And who are you anyway?”  
  
The man looked at him as if that question was either the most amazing thing he had ever heard or the most ridiculous. “You don’t know who I am?”  
  
Clark adjusted his glasses and stared back at him. “That’s what I said.” Although now that he thought about it, something about the man did seem familiar. He was almost Clark’s height, his dark hair was perfectly styled, and his pale skin looked soft and pampered. Clark imagined his immaculately tailored suit had been hand-sewn by some ancient gnome of a tailor in service to the man’s family for the last five generations.  
  
“I’m Bruce Wayne,” the man said, and a lot of things clicked into place.  
  
Of course he was. The Prince of Gotham, a madcap zany frittering his life away with one harebrained escapade after another --which probably explained the current situation. Clark knew the faster he disentangled himself from whatever was going on, the better.  
  
“Look,” Clark put a bit more distance between them, “I’m not interested in your games, Mr. Wayne.”  
  
“Games?” Eyebrows quirked, Bruce Wayne gave him a look of hurt surprise. “But it’s life and death! You wouldn’t abandon me to my fate, would you?”  
  
Really, was everyone in Gotham a drama queen? Maybe it was something in the water. “Mr. Wayne, excuse me,” Clark tried to edge past him, “but I’ve got work to d—” He didn’t get to finish, or make good his escape, because as the sound of feminine laughter drifted on the air Bruce Wayne reeled him in and planted a kiss right on his mouth.  
  
Sputtering, Clark jerked his mouth away and tried to break free of the other man’s hold. “Mr. Wayne! What the hell are you doing?” Apparently the billionaire playboy put in a lot of time at the gym because Clark had to make a real effort to get free. Much more of an effort and he’d be in danger of revealing his other identity.  
  
“Brucie! Brucie! Where are you hiding?” the woman called out. There was an uncanny quality in the husky that sent a chill down Clark’s spine. He couldn’t explain it but for a moment he nearly sympathized with Bruce Wayne.  
  
“Just follow my lead and I’ll make it worth your while,” Bruce Wayne whispered. A note of what sounded like genuine desperation ran through his voice; palpable enough for Clark to consider that there might really be something bizarre and dangerous going on. And wasn’t that _de rigueur_ for Gotham anyway?  
  
All the same… “You don’t need to make it worth my while.” Clark didn’t even want to imagine what that might mean. “If you need some help just _mmph_ …” He was being kissed again, adamantly, and held in place just as firmly. Short of using his strength to break free, Clark didn’t know how he was supposed to get out of this. Worst of all, as Bruce Wayne deepened the kiss and one manicured hand slid into his hair, Clark was alarmed (at least, he thought he should be alarmed) to feel himself sort of getting _into_ it.  
  
Rapid footsteps clattered to the terrace doors. They were flung open to reveal a surprisingly striking woman . The way Bruce Wayne had carried on, Clark had expected some hideous hag, Medusa in Christian Dior. In a shimmering, bronze-colored gown, however, and hair the color of flames tumbled around her shoulders—not a hissing snakes in sight--she looked exactly like the kind of supermodel who so frequently adorned Bruce Wayne’s arm. A note of satisfaction _(inhuman, unpleasant--and why did he think that?)_ colored her voice as she cried, “There you are! Bru—” She took a couple of steps forward, enough to get an eyeful of the two of them, entwined and kissing passionately. “—cie…”  
  
“Hesper!” Pulling away from Clark now, Bruce Wayne gave every indication of being startled to have been found out like this. He called out to her as the woman promptly turned on her high heels and strode back through the terrace doors. “Hesper! Don’t go! It’s not what it looks like!” The door slammed decisively behind her and Bruce Wayne exhaled a deep sigh.  
  
He cast Clark a curiously rueful glance then. “I am sorry about that,” he said. Something in his manner suggested his apology might even be sincere. “I could tell you what it was all about—”  
  
“But you’d have to kill me?”  
  
Shooting him a sharp look, Bruce Wayne reached over to smooth Clark’s lapels. “Nothing quite so drastic,” he murmured and straightened Clark’s tie as well. “It’s just that I doubt you’d believe me.”  
  
“You might be surprised.” Clark fairly astonished himself by reaching over to brush several strands of silky hair off Bruce Wayne’s forehead—then on second thought, he brushed them back down again. A slight air of dishevelment suited the playboy. Although where that thought came from or why, he could not have said. “There are days I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”  
  
Unusually sharp eyes studied him, a spark of amusement in them--and it occurred to Clark that this was the first time he’d seen them truly unguarded throughout this whole incident. “ _Alice in Wonderland_? Impressive, and almost apt,” Bruce Wayne murmured, half to himself, something distracted in his manner now. Distracted, but not, Clark thought, air-headed. “Although something from Stephen King might be more fitting.”  
  
“Stephen King?” Clark wondered what was impressive about him quoting Lewis Carroll.  
  
Smiling faintly, Bruce Wayne patted his cheek and said, “Never mind, nothing to worry your head about.” Then he smoothed his hair back into place and gave Clark a wary, suspicious look as though Clark might spring forward and muss him up again. “You should stay in your room tonight. I think a storm’s coming.”  
  
Puzzled by the non sequitur, Clark started to follow Bruce Wayne as the other man left the terrace. A hand planted firmly on his chest stopped him. “My friends are waiting for me." Just like that, the careless playboy was back. "So you should run along now. We’ve got _fabulous_ plans for tonight,” he said, smile seemingly as empty as his head. “Go on,” Bruce Wayne gave him a little shove, “there’s a good boy.”  
  
Thoroughly stumped as to what had just happened, and not sure he wanted to examine any of it too closely, Clark called down the hallway, “Mr. Wayne?”  
  
The playboy billionaire paused, turned back. “Yes?”  
  
“Is everybody in Gotham one fry short of a Happy Meal?”  
  
Bruce Wayne grinned back at him. “Pretty much, yes. Good night!” Then with a cheery wave, he ducked through a doorway and was gone.  
  
Clark tracked him, watched him catch up with the statuesque Hesper and plead with her to forgive him-- _“I was just overcome by his beauty, Hesper. Who wouldn’t be? He doesn’t hold a candle to you,though. Let’s forget about him…”_ Not sure if he should be flattered or insulted – maybe nauseated? – Clark left the playboy to his own devices and headed up to his room.  
  
Storm or not, he didn’t plan on staying there long.

~*~

  
  
All right, as Plan Bs went, Bruce could concede that being caught in a make out session with a male model hadn’t been his most brilliant. It had seemed to make sense at the time, when the civilian appeared out of nowhere and unknowingly placed himself in terrible jeopardy.  
  
Unfurling his umbrella against the rain, Bruce ran a hand through his hair. For a moment, just the briefest flash, he remembered the way Tall, Wholesome and Beautiful had brushed at his hair, as if he had every right to and it was a long-established pattern for them. If he lingered over the memory it was only to examine the situation for things he might have done differently. Not to dwell on how good the other man had felt in his arms, especially once he really started to get into it. He shook his head, annoyed with himself, and firmly filed the ludicrous encounter away before he began to catalog the texture of his hair _(like black silk as it slid between his fingers)_ or the color of his eyes _(lighter than sapphire but different from blue topaz…blue kyanite was close)_ , or the feel of his mouth as Bruce kissed him _(lips soft but firm, yielding to him slowly…)_  
  
Damn it, what was the matter with him? Maybe that dose of sex pollen Poison Ivy had hit him with last week was still working its way out of his system? Or maybe it was just symptomatic of this whole case. Anything with a taint of magic always put him out of sorts and threw him off his game. It wasn’t sensible, wasn’t logical that a gorgeous supermodel was also the current embodiment of some millennia-old vengeance vampire preying on men who callously used and discarded women without a second thought. Men like Gotham’s Prince--and Bruce still might not have believed it if Hesper hadn’t gone for him two nights ago.  
  
He absently rubbed his throat; the wounds were still a bit sore despite the salve Jason Blood had applied. He could recall every detail of her attack: the sharp scrape of her teeth, fangs tearing at his flesh—the way her face had transformed into an unearthly and terrifying beauty, all glowing eyes and snarling mouth. Anyone who wasn’t also Batman wouldn’t have escaped. Eleven men ahead of him hadn’t and Bruce had no intention of allowing Hesper to chalk up an even dozen kills.  
  
His car pulled up. The valet climbed out and hurried over to him, returned the keys, took the umbrella, wished Mr. Wayne a good evening, and pocketed the generous tip Bruce handed him. Bruce started to get behind the wheel but paused for an instant to glance up as sheet lightning flashed over the city and he caught a glimpse of a streak of red and blue that tore across the sky like a comet.  
  
Blinking his eyes to clear away the after-image left by the lightning, Bruce pointed the car toward the Manor. Plan A may have been temporarily derailed but everything was go again--and he’d only had to debase himself a fraction more than usual. _“Hesper,” he'd purred as he strived for teasing playfulness, “I want to apologize for the other night. It’s just, you caught me by surprise. I didn’t realize you liked it rough…”_  
  
God, sometimes he really hated the things he had to do as Brucie.  
  
On the other hand, he really loved some of the things he did as Batman, and that’s who Hesper would be meeting tonight.

~*~

  
  
Crouched atop the marble obelisk in Robinson Park, Batman surveyed the landscape as Hesper walked into the park. Her high heels _click-clacked_ against the rain-slick cobblestones. The storm had passed but water still dripped from trees and bushes and puddles reflected back the light from the Victorian-style streetlamps. Bareheaded, Hesper wore a cashmere wrap as protection against the September chill, and let it slide down from her creamy shoulders as she glanced around in search of her quarry.  
  
He called to her, “Empusa!” and watched puzzlement pass across her features as she searched him out, nostrils flaring to catch his scent. Her lips curled in a snarl as she spotted him at last.  
  
 _Empusa_ —vampire: Demonic offspring of Hecate and Mormo, and pledged to the destruction of the heartless young men she seduced and lured to a gruesome fate. So ran the legend anyway, according to Jason Blood.  
  
Batman wasn’t sure how much he believed, he wasn’t sure that even mattered. The _facts_ he had discovered were that Hesper had been declared clinically dead nearly after a drug overdose nearly five years ago, and that her recovery had been unexpected and unexplained. Had Empusa taken possession of her at that crucial, vulnerable moment? Or was she another metahuman, exposed to some dangerous substance, some transformative object?  
  
Nothing he or Jason had dug up could provide a definitive answer to that one. What had been revealed was a list of victims wherever Hesper went, bodies discovered torn and half-devoured, drained of blood. That stopped tonight.  
  
Reaching into his utility belt, he took out the vial of powder Jason had created for him. Two vials, actually. As Jason had prepared the second one, he’d told Batman, _“I know you’ll want to examine it under a microscope,”_ while he’d measured and mixed and used a mortar and pestle to grind up crystals and herbs into this gravelly powder. Amethyst and black onyx, cayenne and hyssop, malachite, patchouli and more--nothing inherently magical in the ingredients, nothing paranormal about its appearance. _“If you’d like,” Jason drawled, “I could add a little something to make it sparkle.”_  
  
Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic; Clarke’s Third Law of Prediction. Batman had found it could help a little if he thought of it that way.  
  
Although … not so much when the woman below began to change. Her body shimmered and shifted, the muscles rippling. Her creamy skin was replaced with mother of pearl scales, her legs fused into a serpent’s tail; a forked tongue flicked out of a hissing mouth full of sharp and vicious teeth. Jason had warned him this was a possibility and Batman had believed he was prepared, but as Hesper--what had been Hesper—crawled and dragged herself to the obelisk and began to swarm up it, there was a moment when primal fear, divorced of reason, shot through him. That this triggered a deeply embedded flight-or-fight instinct was no bad thing, however, as his automatic reaction to the creature as it rapidly ascended toward him was to vault away from it, into the air. Just as he leaped, he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of that streak of red and blue across the sky once more. This time it appeared to be angled right for him. A split second later, maybe less, impossibly strong arms plucked him out of the air and soared skyward.  
  
 _Superman?!_ What the… “Put me down,” Batman growled. “Now.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Now!”  
  
An obstinate look settled across the alien’s face. “You were in danger.”  
  
“I had it under control! I _have_ it under control. Put me down.” They were high above the park now. Hesper clung to the obelisk, tail lashing the air as she hissed her fury at them. If she had been a dangerous menace before, Batman didn’t even want to try and imagine what she could do in this state.  
  
Superman swiftly descended and landed them on a bridge that spanned the lake and afforded the best overall view of the park. As the moon rode high in the sky now, Hesper was fully illuminated in all her gruesome glory.  
  
“Looks nasty,” Superman said. There was something about the intensely focused way he was looking at her that made Batman suspect the alien was using one of his super powers. “So, how are we handling this?”  
  
Indefinably annoyed, Batman briskly informed him, “ _We_ aren’t handling anything. Go back to Metropolis.” This was the vaunted Man of Steel? Really? An over-sized puppy, eager to play fetch and looking pitiful when you told him no?  
  
“You don’t mean that.”  
  
“Don’t I?” Almost cowl-to-nose with Superman, Batman found something else bothered him. Some piece of knowledge that would to snap into place and explain everything, if only he could lay hands on it. “I’ve got it under control,” he ground out once more. “Now take your shiny red boots and—”  
  
A shriek pierced the night quiet. It had erupted from a small party of tourists or thrill-seekers who had ventured into the park for a midnight stroll and were getting quite a bit more than they bargained for as Hesper spotted them and lunged toward the group.  
  
Even as Batman formed the thought, _I need to do something_ , there was a rush of air. He experienced a rare and true blink of an eye moment then because that was how long it took for Superman to get from the bridge to the civilians. Superman bypassed them to snag Hesper out of the air and wheel with her writhing body out over the lake and plunge both of them down into the icy water. A tremendous spray of water shot up to drench the civilians in their blind panic scramble for safety.  
  
So, all right, Batman conceded, maybe there was a little something more to Superman than some good PR.  
  
Not to be outdone, however, he unfurled his cape and leapt off the bridge to glide down to the lake. That effectively scattered the civilians, and a faint smile tugged at his mouth as they ran for cover. If they had been after thrills tonight they could have no complaints.  
  
As he watched the water boil and froth, he made a move to wade in to help but then scrambled out of the way as the water shot up in a fountain. Superman reappeared, Hesper latched onto him, her tail wound around him as her sharp teeth chomped at his throat. With what looked like a truly supreme effort, Superman finally pulled her off him and flung her away to crash into the obelisk. She slithered down the white marble, stunned, the wind knocked out of her.  
  
Not sure what was going on--wasn’t Superman supposed to be invulnerable?--Batman started toward Hesper and reached for the vial Jason had given him. Something made him hesitate and look back at Superman. The Man of Steel swayed unsteadily on his feet for a moment before he went to his knees at the muddy shore. One hand was pressed to his throat and blood leaked through his fingers. Superman looked up at him. Pain shadowed by shock stood out starkly in the blue eyes for a split second before it transformed to alarm and Superman shouted, “Batman! Look out!”  
  
The warning was almost too late--almost. Batman whirled to meet Hesper as she sprang at him and took him to the ground. They rolled, his gauntleted hands clamped on her jaws to keep her teeth away from his face. Batman felt her breath wash over him and the carrion scent made him want to gag. He fought it off, ignored the razor sharp claws as they raked at him and found the few gaps in his armor. Rolling again, he smacked her head against the cobblestones, then again, and watched her eyes roll back, her body go slack. He sprang up and away from her and got out the vial. Just as he started to pull the stopper to fling the contents at her, her serpent’s tail whipped out and slammed into his hand to send the bottle flying--straight into Superman’s grip.  
  
“Throw it at her!” Batman shouted as she was on him again, teeth scraping his jaw before he slammed a fist into her head and knocked her back. She sprang back at him immediately, foul breath choking him as her teeth sank into his shoulder. She looked up and reared back as Superman hovered over them and sprinkled the strange mixture over her. She screeched and spit and lashed out at Superman with her claws and tail. Her claws raked his body and shredded his costume, ripped his flesh—and in almost the same instant she froze in mid-motion and collapsed, sprawled across Batman’s body as the sparkling powder cascaded down over her.  
  
Batman didn’t have time to grumble at Jason Blood’s theatrics as he tried to kick and scrabble his way out from under her. He suddenly found strong hands on his shoulders, hauling him to safety. Propped on his elbows, he watched Superman sink down beside him, and then looked back at Hesper as the powder wreathed her body and encased her like a lizard trapped in amber.  
  
As he heard footsteps approach, Batman looked around and spotted Jason Blood. “You said it would neutralize her.”  
  
“As it has.” Mysterious as always, Jason’s lips quirked with an ironic smile. “I’ll take it from here.”  
  
“She should to go to Arkham.”  
  
“Perhaps.” Jason knelt beside her, fingers reaching out to her. “It depends on how much of her is left. Leave it to me, Batman,” he said and then nodded a greeting at Superman. He took a jar from his coat pocket and set it down beside them. “For your wounds.” Then in another moment, he made some complicated gestures in the air, spoke his magic words, and vanished along with Hesper.  
  
Beside him, Superman blew out a breath, said, “I hate magic,” and sprawled back in the cold, damp grass.

~*~

  
  
The coffee wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s preferred blend, expertly brewed by Alfred, but it was hot and that was all that mattered just now.  
  
He sat on a favorite gargoyle and looked out over his city, its lights gleaming brighter after the rain. Superman sat cross-legged beside him, hovering in the air, bright costume muddied and tattered. His scarlet cape floated out around him as he cradled his own cup of coffee. Bruce was dying to ask him where he kept change or a wallet in that costume, but perhaps street vendors were so honored to have Superman ask for a cup of their coffee that they never thought to ask him to pay.  
  
“I thought you were supposed to be invulnerable.”  
  
“Mostly invulnerable.” Superman rubbed at his throat, all healed now, as if he could still feel a phantom sting from the bites. Bruce wondered if the rapid healing was entirely due to his powers or if Jason’s salve had been of any help. It had certainly eased the burn of Bruce’s own wounds. But perhaps it wasn’t wise to dwell on the specifics of that episode, how they had helped each other up before they sought some privacy to tend to one another’s wounds. “I’m susceptible to magic, and different forms of Kryptonite do all kinds of things to me.”  
  
“Other than that, though…?”  
  
Superman shrugged modestly. “Other than that, yes, pretty much.”  
  
Bruce nodded and took another sip of coffee, trying not to make a face.  
  
“Something wrong with the coffee?”  
  
“I usually take mine black, no cream or sugar.”  
  
“Oh. Okay, I’ll remember that.”  
  
Bruce shot him a look. “Are we going to be sharing coffee a lot?”  
  
“Well,” looking like a hopeful puppy again, Superman said, “you never know. If you join the League and all.”  
  
“I’m not really into clubs.”  
  
Frowning now, Superman said, “It’s not a club. We’re allies, providing back up for each other.”  
  
“I don’t need back up.”  
  
Superman gave him a blatant look of disbelief. “Really? So what if I hadn’t been here tonight?”  
  
“I would have managed. You,” and he jabbed a finger at him, “disrupted my plans. Everything would have gone fine otherwise.”  
  
“Provided it all went entirely according to plan.” Superman gave him a curious look. “Do you find that happens a lot?”  
  
Bruce glowered at him. “That’s why I have contingency plans.”  
  
Superman had the nerve to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, and contingency plans for your contingency plans.” More serious and hovering closer, Superman actually nudged him with a rock solid shoulder. “Everyone needs help now and then, Batman. There’s no dishonor in it.”  
  
Bruce sighed, uncomfortable with Superman so close. Looking back out over the city, he said, “If I refuse, will you show up on the dot every Thursday to harangue me some more?”  
  
Frowning, Superman said, “What harangue? It’s just a friendly invitation. But yes, I can probably keep this up indefinitely.”  
  
“I could probably find some Kryptonite,” Bruce said and watched him out of the corner of his eye, surprised to see a look of hurt pass over the handsome features. “What?”  
  
Superman shook his head. “Nothing. I just…” He sighed deeply and moved out of his sitting position to float full-length in the air. “Look, no one’s going to harass you. At least think about it, though. You’d have everything to gain and nothing to lose. It looks like a no-brainer to me.”  
  
Bruce bit his tongue against the remark that leaped to his lips. “I’ll think about it,” he said, instead.  
  
Face lighting up, Superman said, “You will? Really?”  
  
“Yes,” long-suffering, “really.”  
  
“Oh, okay then! That’s terrific!”  
  
“Peachy keen and nifty, too.”  
  
Blue eyes _(blue like kyanite)_ narrowed at him and he was abruptly reminded him this man could shoot laser beams from those eyes. “Are you always a pain in the butt?”  
  
“Pretty much, yes,” Bruce said and waited a beat to see if anything clicked for the other man. It didn’t, so he added, “You may as well know upfront that, in the event I associate myself with your League, there will be one, non-negotiable condition.”  
  
“Non-negotiable?” Superman repeated, looking concerned.  
  
“Until such time as I say otherwise.”  
  
Turning it over, Superman nodded after a moment. “All right, what?”  
  
“I will not remove my mask.”  
  
Superman thought about that, said, “I could probably use my x-ray vision and see who you are.”  
  
Bruce smirked. “Try.” He didn’t precisely feel anything, but the focused look on Superman’s face as his gaze passed over the cowl, told him the Kryptonian had taken up the challenge. “Well?”  
  
“Isn’t wearing a lead-lined cowl dangerous?”  
  
“I wear it, I don’t eat it.” It had been a precaution, once word of some of Superman’s powers had leaked, just on the off chance this very event ever came about. Head cocked, Bruce pressed, “So?”  
  
“Allies should trust each other, Batman,” Superman said and gave him a disappointed look, and Bruce immediately resented that he cared about that.  
  
He replied with a miniscule shrug. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” he said, and watched a blush, an honest to God blush, burn Superman’s cheeks.  
  
“I…I don’t wear a mask.”  
  
Bruce coolly surveyed him, head to toe. “Don’t you? Are you actually going to float there and tell me you don’t hide in plain sight?”  
  
Looking down at the toes of his shiny red boots a moment as he thought things over, Superman looked up again. “All right. I think you’re being way too paranoid but forced trust isn’t real trust. Whenever you do feel safe enough, though, let me know.”  
  
Bruce stared at him; he hadn’t expected that answer and wasn’t sure why he almost felt disappointed. Anyone would think he wanted to rip off his cowl and reveal himself to this man. “And if I choose to only show my face to you, no one else?”  
  
“Then I would feel deeply honored,” Superman said. Bruce couldn’t discern even the slightest trace of mockery or anything that wasn’t complete and utter sincerity in the words.  
  
Bruce looked away, back at his city. “It wouldn’t be much, as honors go.”  
  
Very softly, as though trying not to spook him, Superman said, “You might not be the best judge of that.”  
  
Bruce grumbled something indistinct in his throat, then, “Don’t you have places to be, kittens to rescue?”  
  
Brows drawn together, Superman said, “Kittens?”  
  
“Or whatever good deeds you do.”  
  
“Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?” Superman said, but he was smiling.  
  
“Umm.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll get out of your hair. Holler if you need me.”  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“But if you do, I’ll be there.”  
  
Bruce gave him a sharp look. “Is unflagging persistence one of your super powers?”  
  
Head tilted as if actually thinking it over, Superman smiled and said, “You know, I think it might be.” Then, finally, as his smile grew even more overbearingly cheerful, and accompanied by an equally happy little wave, Superman took off. Between one breath and another, he was just a distant dot on the horizon. Then he was gone completely.  
  
And Bruce could draw an easy breath again.  
  
 _Tall, Wholesome and Beautiful..._  
  
He had d kissed Superman. He’d pawed him and mauled him and done everything but ram his tongue down his throat. He’d held all of that power in his arms and hadn’t for one moment dreamed he was making out with a demigod.  
  
He’d kissed Superman… and he’d really sort of liked it.  
  
Oh no, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. The only positive aspect was that it made his decision about the Justice League easy. He would decline the invitation. No other alternative was feasible. He would say no, and he would never, ever give anyone a holler, and that would be that.  
  
Content with his decision, Bruce stood up, shot off a grapple, and swung off into the night.

~*~

  
  
 _January 1_  
  
“The next time somebody schedules a ‘Goals for the Year Ahead’ meeting,” and Green Arrow made air quotes while he aimed a pointed look at Superman, “could we maybe not have it the day after New Year’s Eve?” Murmurs of agreement circled around the table, from Wonder Woman to Flash, Aquaman to Green Lantern, and even Martian Manhunter looked as if he might have preferred sleeping in today.  
  
“Yes,” rumbled a dark voice from out of the shadows, and Superman smiled as everyone else tried to pretend they hadn’t jumped, “because justice should always wait upon our hangovers.” Batman emerged from those shadows and instantly transformed the atmosphere in the room, as if a bolt of lightning had struck dead center.  
  
“Glad you changed your mind,” Superman murmured for Batman’s ears only.  
  
The black-cowled head turned his way, lips briefly twitching with a smirk that was rapidly growing familiar. “Give it time, you may change yours.”  
  
Superman stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Not a chance.”  
  
Batman glanced around at the other members, looked at that outstretched hand, and with great deliberation clasped it. Superman couldn’t have said why but it suddenly felt as if an essential piece of his life had just snapped into place. As though it had always belonged there and always would.  
  
“So is he taking the mask off?” Green Arrow asked.  
  
In tandem, they both looked at him and spoke in unplanned unison, “No.” They glanced at each other again, and Superman would swear forever afterward that Bruce actually smiled at him. Batman would insist just as vehemently that Clark just imagined it.


End file.
